


Peek/Throw in the Towel/Release

by makesometime



Category: Terra Nova (TV)
Genre: Angry Sex, Established Relationship, F/M, Shower Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-05
Updated: 2012-02-05
Packaged: 2017-11-06 18:22:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/421836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/makesometime/pseuds/makesometime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>She turns with a scowl, ready to make a polite but forceful suggestion that whoever is there leave her alone. What she sees makes the scowl die on her face, the words catch in her throat.</p>
          </blockquote>





	1. Peek

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She turns with a scowl, ready to make a polite but forceful suggestion that whoever is there leave her alone. What she sees makes the scowl die on her face, the words catch in her throat.

It's been over a hundred days without human contact. That's his excuse. It's a pretty poor one, considering for the past few days he's taking the liberty of devouring Wash with his eyes whenever she's not looking, but it's an excuse none the less.

It's completely irrational, he knows, but ever since she walked through the portal to find him waiting and hugged him he's been in a low level state of arousal. She barely lingered, conscious of their company, but it was enough contact to send him into a tailspin of remembrance whenever he sees her. Which, considering how few of them there are now, is often.

The pair of them have set off on foot to do a spot of recon, to determine how far their zone of safety extends and where would be best to set up their permanent camp while they await the first of the supplies. He watches her carefully as she takes point (he really should be doing that, but the chance to ogle her from behind was too good to pass up) and spots a tree with a good perch a few feet off the ground to allow her a higher vantage point. 

She sets down her pack and weapon, shrugs off her jacket to reveal a tank underneath; his pulse quickens at the sight of her exposed arms alone and it's this that makes him realise he has it _bad_ for her and has for years. She reaches to grab onto a branch to haul herself up and her tank rides up, exposing the skin of her lower back. For as often as he's seen her arms, her back is a rarer sight to him and he curses the traitorous stirring in his pants.

It's almost comical how fast he crosses to her, silently sheds his pack and reaches for her before she can hoist herself up, tugging her back into his waiting body. Her feet struggle for purchase on the uneven ground, leaving her leaning heavily against him for support.

"Sir?" She questions and damn her, she's amused. Not surprised. Just amused.

He just grunts in reply, nosing the strap of her tank to one side so he can press a kiss to her shoulder.

"Wondered how long it was going to take you." She laughs, turning in his arms. She grabs the sides of his head and pulls his lips to meet hers, swallowing his grateful moan with her eager mouth.

He pushes her back into the tree – turns out it's going to be useful after all, even if not in the way Wash intended – hands exploring all the skin his lips can't yet reach, not yet willing to give up her mouth after such a long time wanting it.

"Aren't you glad Guz had patrol duty?" She teases, hands busy with his belt. "Don't think he'd be quite so receptive to your advances."

He has to make the choice between further discourse and action, knowing his mind in this state would only be capable of maintaining one to any degree. So he allows his lips to draw to hers into silence once more, right up until the moment she breaks around him and tears them away to let out the most beautiful sound he has ever heard.


	2. Throw in the Towel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She turns with a scowl, ready to make a polite but forceful suggestion that whoever is there leave her alone. What she sees makes the scowl die on her face, the words catch in her throat.

She chooses to train at night sometimes, pretends that it's an active decision on her part rather than a way of hiding the fact that sleep won't come.

It's quieter too. She's always alone, always free to concentrate on her exercise, her choice of equipment her own. She's winding her hands with strapping to end her session with taking on the punching bag, to relieve her frustration, to excise her recently building demons (of which, admittedly, there are fewer than ever) when she hears movement behind her.

She turns with a scowl, ready to make a polite but forceful suggestion that whoever is there leave her alone. What she sees makes the scowl die on her face, the words catch in her throat.

Taylor. Towel sitting low on his hips, upper body completely exposed and, God, still wet. Rivulets of water chasing each other down the planes of his taut, tanned skin.

She's staring, she knows she is, but he looks just as surprised to see her which allows her to quietly shut her mouth and stand impassively in front of him.

"Wash." He greets uncertainly. "Didn't think anyone else would be here at this time of night."

"Likewise, sir." She manages, suddenly aware of how close he is, how exposed she is in her training gear and how his eyes are very much not on her face anymore. She clears her throat and they snap back up to meet her displeased gaze with a unabashed smile.

"Don't suppose we can pretend this never happened?" He asks, crossing his arms across his chest.

She rolls her eyes, tugging the remaining strapping tight around her right hand. "Why not, it's what you always do."

"Lieutenant..." He starts, there's a warning in his tone and it riles her even more.

"Don't. Don't, please. Just..." She sighs, annoyed at losing her words so easily around him. She looks up, expecting to see him angry but finds his expression utterly different. Mischievous, almost. "You son of a bitch." She growls, surprise and, okay, excitement making her less concerned over propriety. "How long have you been planning this?"

"Long enough." He says simply, like this is nothing, like she shouldn't be shocked.

And she isn't, not really. It's just a little puzzling to suddenly have everything you've even wanted presented to you in one towel-wrapped package when you had absolutely no idea to expect it.

"I'm not entirely sure what to say, sir."

He makes the decision for her, crossing the distance between them like it's nothing, grabbing her hips and pulling her into his body. Her hands fly to his shoulders, the bindings catching against wet skin and giving her a firm hold as his lips find hers, finally, _finally_ find hers.

He's not gentle with her and she responds in kind, years of pent-up emotion finding their release in the way his hands grip at and roam her body, his teeth nip at her lips and his hips press suggestively into hers. Somewhere in the back of her mind she is dimly aware that she's all sweaty while he is fresh out of the shower and she pulls away once his hands slide lower, under the waistband of her sweatpants, arms catching on the sticky skin of her abdomen.

"Sir." She says, biting back a moan as his lips descend her neck, her hands coming down to rest on his lower back. " _Sir_."

He pulls back at her insistence and fixes her with a curiously amused glance. "Wash?"

"You have me at a disadvantage, sir. I'd hate to undo all the work you put into getting clean." She grins, laughing when he gives her an ' _is that all?_ ' look.

"I think we can fix that, Lieutenant." He says, walking backwards from her, towards the shower room.

He gets three steps before he realises he's now without his towel, the offending object hanging suggestively from one of Wash's hands. Her eyes, despite not raking over his body (nothing she hasn't seen before, she is his medic, after all) turn dark, lustful and very, very amused. "Now who's at a disadvantage?" He retorts.

She smirks, slinking up to him and hooking the towel around his neck, pulling the two ends together to tug him with her into the showers. "I think we can fix that, Commander."


	3. Release

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To remove the ability to gain that release and relegate it to a nearly impossible footnote on their daily task list is not advisable, even as it is necessary.

It's been a hard month. 

They've been preparing for the arrival of the Eighth Pilgrimage at the same time as a monstrous virus has taken over the colony, the inhabitants of which seem to have a ridiculously patchy immunity to. Taylor is fine, Wash is fine. Immune, safe. Guz is not, he gets it _bad_ and is out of action for weeks.

Due to there being no one else trained enough to take command of the colony in the absence of all three of them, Taylor and Wash have been alternating shifts, alternating taking control of one of the most stressful times the colony has ever seen. When one sleeps, the other is awake and vice versa. It'd be hell on a friendship.

It's even more dangerous to a sex life.

They're not shy about their needs, never have been, they're both highly charged people who need constant activity to keep their minds occupied and frequent release to stop themselves from going insane. To remove the ability to gain that release and relegate it to a nearly impossible footnote on their daily task list is not advisable, even as it is necessary.

Every now and again, between Wash rushing out of their shared quarters and Taylor stumbling in in an exhausted stupor they meet in the middle. In the shower, in the kitchen, whenever they (often quite literally) run into each other. But it's never particularly satisfying, not being able to linger over each other in the way they normally can, each using the other as a tool for release rather than an emotional connection.

It reaches its peak around week four. 

Guz is back on light duty, mostly desk work, making him perfect for taking command but not so fantastic for greeting the next set of pilgrims. So Wash goes alone, brings them back for their introduction to the great Commander Taylor, waits for them to clear to their new homes and then goes to her own. Ready to collapse into bed and not think for at least four hours.

When she pushes open the door to the housing unit her stomach grumbles and she realises it's been far too long since she last ate something. Kicking off her boots she opens the door of the refrigerator to grab something, anything, to eat and finds it totally empty. They've both been eating on the go, not bothering to keep a stock of food at home. Of course. With a whimper she shuts the door and rests her head against it and this is how Taylor finds only moments later.

"Wash?"

"Hmm?"

"What's wrong?"

She stands, fixing him with a glare. "What's wrong? I am _exhausted_ , hungry, dead on my feet and there is no food in this damn unit. That's what's wrong."

Taylor scowls. "When exactly was I supposed to go grocery shopping?"

"I'm not blaming you!"

"It sounded like it." He grumbles, stalking around the central island and grabbing a glass to get some water.

"Well maybe that's just your guilty conscience!"

He gulps down an entire glass before turning to her with a frown. "You could have gone shopping."

"Oh _really_! Could I? When _exactly_ would I have done that? Before my trip to the portal? During my meeting with Malcolm about a vaccination program? While I tidied up after your damn abandoned clothing from last night?"

"After a thirteen hour shift I can't say cleanliness was top of my to-do list!"

"Why are you snapping at me about this?"

"Why are you snapping at _me_?"

Wash groans, rubbing a hand over her eyes wearily. "Never mind. I can't deal with you like this." She says, stalking off towards the bedroom.

"Right, because you're just _charming_ right now." He throws after her but she doesn't stop until she's in the next room. The temptation to slam the door is great but she's not a child, despite all evidence to the contrary.

When she heads back into the main room intending to take a quick shower before sleeping away her tension she hears water running from the bathroom already and spies another trail of discarded clothing leading up to it. She lets out a noise halfway between a groan and scream, kicks her way through the material and storms into the bathroom.

"Will you _ever_ be able to clean up after yourself?" She shouts to be heard over the pounding water.

He doesn't turn to her, just continues rubbing the suds out of his hair as if she hasn't even spoken. 

"Nathaniel..." She growls and this gets his attention, informs him that her frustration is quickly turning to rage.

She isn't sure what she's expecting him to do, but reaching out of the shower and dragging her in, fully clothed, is certainly not it.

She struggles as he starts to strip off her now-sodden clothing, hitting him in the chest and shoulders with all the force of a child, her energy reserves totally spent. He doesn't even react, throwing material over his shoulder until she is as naked as he, fuming, hands on her hips as she regards him coolly.

"What was that?"

"Got you naked, Wash. I'm not going to complain."

She narrows her eyes. "We are not solving this argument with sex."

"It normally works."

She punches his arm again and this time he winces, rubbing the afflicted area. "I am very angry with you." She says, quiet rage still bubbling under the surface.

"How angry?" Taylor responds, bending to grip her thighs and lift her, pressing her into the wall as her legs naturally fall around his waist.

"Very." She says, fast losing the ability to verbalise her thoughts at the feel of his length pressed against her.

"Elaborate." He demands, shifting his hips and thrusting inside her in one quick motion.

"Seething." She grips his shoulders hard, nails digging in.

"More."

Her nails drag down his back, leaving behind long red weals. In response he bites hard on the curve of her breast, earning a groan. "Infuriated."

He thrusts twice more, short sharp jabs of his hips. "More."

She throws her head back against the tiles as his lips find her nipple and suck, before teeth bite down. "Enraged."

He hums, switching to the other breast and repeating the process. Her thighs tighten around him. "More." He mouths against her skin.

She shouts as his fingers find her clit, bringing one hand up to cup the back of his neck while the other scratches hard lines over the small of his back. " _Incensed_." She purrs into his ear, the feel of her hot breath on his skin urging him on.

He doesn't ask again, instead focussing on building them both to a release that promises to be more satisfying than they've had in weeks. Petty arguments are left aside as he pounds into her and she whispers encouragement and curses into his ear, her mental filter abandoning her completely in response to his actions.

They reach the peak and tumble over it together, Wash with a scream and Taylor with a growl. The fatigue of the previous month catches up with them both and together they slide to the floor of the shower in an exhausted heap. Wash smacks the controls blindly until the water turns off and they stay in a boneless stupor until the chill of the air becomes too much to bear.

"We need to talk about this." Taylor says as he helps her up and wraps a towel around her tenderly. "I can't stand it when we fight, Alicia, you know that."

Wash nods mutely in response, winding her fingers with his and leading him from the room. "We will, I promise. We have time, now. But god help me if you stop me from getting some sleep I will never forgive you."

He chuckles as he watches her throw herself onto the bed, still wet, knowing she'll grouse about the damp sheets when they awake. He shuts the door, crawls into bed behind her and as he joins her in sleep makes plans for a way of waking her, intending to remove those thoughts before they can even form.


End file.
